The Kingdom

by Clive Cussler

  “He and Selma play by the same handbook,” Sam replied.

  “Right. Here’s the quick and dirty about Arunachal Pradesh: depending on who you ask, we’re in China right now.”

  “Whoa! Say that again,” Sam said.

  “China officially claims most of this region as part of southern Tibet. Of course, to the people and the government here, Arunachal Pradesh is an Indian state. The northern border between Arunachal Pradesh and China is called the McMahon Line, drawn up as part of a treaty between Tibet and the United Kingdom. The Chinese never bought into it, and India never enforced the border until 1950. Bottom line, China and India both claim it but neither does much about it.”

  “What does that mean for a military presence?” asked Sam.

  “Nothing. There are some Indian troops in the region, but the Chinese stay north of the McMahon Line. It’s all fairly amicable, really.”

  “That’s good for our team,” Remi said.

  “Yes, well . . . What isn’t so wonderful is the ANLF—the Arunachal Naga Liberation Force. They’re the latest and greatest terrorist group in the area. They’ve been keen on kidnapping as of late. That said, Ajay says we probably won’t have any trouble with them; the Army has been cracking down.”

  Sam said, “According to the maps, our destination is twenty-five miles into China. Based on the landscape, I’m assuming there aren’t any border checkpoints.”

  “You’re correct. As I mentioned back in Mustang, the border is fairly open. Several hundred trekkers jaunt across it every year. Actually, the Chinese government doesn’t seem to care. There’s nothing of any strategic importance in the area.”

  “More good news,” Remi said. “Now tell us the downside.”

  “You mean aside from the ridiculously rugged terrain?”

  “Yes.”

  “The downside is that we will be, for all intents and purposes, invading China. If we’re unlucky enough to get caught, we’ll probably end up in prison.”

  “We’ve already faced the possibility once,” Sam replied. “Let’s do our best to avoid that, shall we?”

  “Right. Okay, let’s move on to snakes and venomous insects . . .”

  After a quick supper that consisted of tandoori chicken, Sam and Remi retired for the evening. They found their rooms in keeping with the hostel’s motif: Hollywood western chic sans the chic. Though the outside temperature was a pleasant sixty degrees, the humidity was stifling. The room’s creaking ceiling fan slowly churned the air, but after sunset the temperature began dropping, and soon the room was comfortable.

  They were asleep by eight.

  They awoke the next morning to the sound of Ajay knocking softly on their door and whispering their names. Bleary-eyed, Sam crawled out of bed in the darkness and shuffled to the door.

  Ajay said, “Coffee, Mr. Fargo.”

  “No tea? This is a pleasant surprise. It’s Sam, by the way.”

  “Oh, no, sir.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Five a.m.”

  “Uh-oh,” Sam murmured, and glanced over at Remi’s sleeping form. Mrs. Fargo was not exactly a morning person. “Ajay, would you mind bringing us two more cups of coffee right away?”

  “Of course. In fact, I will bring the carafe.”

  The group assembled in the tavern thirty minutes later for breakfast. Once they were done, Karna said, “We’d best pack. Our death trap should be here anytime now.”

  “Did you say ‘death trap’?” Remi asked.

  “You might know it by its common name: helicopter.”

  Sam chuckled. “After what we’ve been through, we almost prefer your description. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  Karna held up a softball-sized Nerf ball. It was riddled with finger holes. “Stress toy. I’ll survive. The ride will be short.”

  With their gear assembled and packed, they soon regrouped at the northern edge of Yingkiong near a dirt clearing.

  “Here he comes,” Ajay said, pointing to the south where an olive green helicopter was skimming over the surface of the Siang.

  “It looks positively ancient,” Karna observed.

  As it drew even with the clearing and slowed to a hover, Sam spotted a faded Indian Air Force roundel on the side door. Someone had tried and failed to paint over the orange, white, and green insignia. The group turned away from the rotor downwash and waited until the dust settled.

  “Ajay, what is this thing?” asked Karna.

  “A Chetak light utility helicopter, sir. Very reliable. As a soldier, I flew in these many times.”

  “How old?”

  “Nineteen sixty-eight.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “If I had told you, Mr. Karna, you would not have come.”

  “Oh, you’re damned right. All right, all right, let’s get on with it.”

  With Jack clawing furiously at his Nerf ball, the group packed their gear aboard, then took their seats. Ajay checked their fivepoint seat harnesses, then slid the door shut and gave the pilot a nod.

  They lifted off, the nose tilted forward, and surged ahead.

  Partially for ease of navigation and partially to increase their chances of rescue should the Chetak crash, the pilot followed the serpentine course of the Siang River. The few pockets of habitation that lay north of Yingkiong were situated along its banks, Ajay explained. With luck, someone would see the Chetak go down and report the incident.

  “Oh, that’s just fantastic!’” Karna shouted over the rush of the engine.

  “Squeeze your ball, Jack,” Remi replied. “Ajay, do you know this pilot?”

  “Oh, yes, Mrs. Fargo, very well. We served together in the Army. Gupta now runs a cargo business—brings supplies to the far parts of Arunachal Pradesh.”

  The Chetak continued north, skimming a few hundred feet above the brown waters of the Siang, and before long they found themselves flying through knife-edged ridges and plummeting valleys, all of it covered in jungle so thick Sam and Remi could see nothing but a solid carpet of green. In most places the Siang was wide and sluggish, but several times, as the Chetak passed through a gorge, the waters were a maelstrom of froth and crashing waves.

  “Those are Class VI waters down there,” Sam called, staring out the window.

  “That’s nothing,” Karna replied.

  “Where we’re headed, the Tsangpo River Gorge, is known as the Everest of Rivers. There are sections of the Tsangpo that defy classification.”

  Remi said, “Has anyone ever tried traversing those?”

  “Oh, yes, a number of times. Mostly extreme kayakers, right, Ajay?”

  Ajay nodded. “Many lives have been lost. Bodies never found.”

  “They don’t wash downstream?” asked Sam.

  “Bodies are usually either trapped forever in hydraulics, where they are ground into pulp along the bottom or they are ground into pulp while being dragged down the gorges. There is not much left to find after that.”

  After they had traveled forty minutes, Gupta turned in his seat and called, “Coming up on Tuting Village. Prepare for landing.”

  Sam and Remi were surprised to find that Tuting had a dirt airstrip partially overgrown with jungle. They touched down, and everyone climbed out. To the east, higher up the valley, they glimpsed a few roofs peeking above the treetops. Tuting Village, Sam and Remi assumed.

  “From here, we hike,” Karna announced.

  He, Sam, and Remi began unloading their gear.

  “Pardon, just one moment,” Ajay said. He was standing ten feet away with the pilot. “Gupta has a proposal he wishes you to consider. He asked me how far into China we are going, and I told him. For a fee, he will fly us very close to our destination.”

  “Isn’t he worried about the Chinese?” asked Sam.

  “Very little. He says they maintain no radar in the area, and from here to our destination the valleys only deepen, and that there is almost no habitation. He can fly unseen, he believes.”

  “Well, t
hat’s a damned sight better than a six-day march in and back,” Karna observed. “How much does he want?”

  Ajay spoke to Gupta in Hindi, then said, “Two hundred thousand rupees—or roughly four thousand U.S. dollars.”

  Sam said, “We don’t have that much cash on us.”

  “Gupta assumed this. He says he will happily take a credit card.”

  They agreed to Gupta’s terms, and in short order the pilot was on the helicopter’s radio, transmitting Sam’s Visa information to his home base in Itanagar.

  “This is surreal,” Sam said. “Standing here, in the back of beyond, while an Indian pilot runs our card.”

  “As I said back in Nepal, never a dull moment,” Remi replied. “I know my ankle will appreciate this itinerary change.”

  Ajay called, “Gupta says you are approved. We can lift off whenever you are ready.”

  Airborne and heading north along the Siang again, they soon passed over the last Indian settlement before the border. Gengren disappeared behind them in a flash, and then Gupta announced, “We are crossing the McMahon Line.”

  “That’s it,” Sam said. “We’ve invaded China.”

  The crossing had been decidedly anticlimactic, but soon the landscape began to morph. As Gupta had predicted, the peaks and ridges traded their rounded appearance for exposed and serrated rock; the valley walls steepened and the forests thickened. The most startling difference was the Siang. Here, on the southern edge of the Tsangpo Gorge region, the river’s surface roiled, the waves exploding against boulders and hanging rock walls, sending plumes of mist high into the air. Gupta kept the Chetak as close to the river as possible, and kept below the ridgeline. Sam and Remi felt as though they were on the wildest flume ride on earth.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Gupta called.

  Sam and Remi shared an anticipatory smile. They’d come so far, gone through so much, and now their destination was only minutes away . . . they hoped.

  Karna’s reaction was intense. Jaw clenched, fingers digging into the Nerf ball, he stared out the window with his forehead pressed against the glass.

  “You okay, Jack?” Sam asked.

  “Never better, mate. Almost there!”

  “Approaching the outer edge of the coordinates,” Gupta announced.

  Ajay had given their pilot a datum point with a two-mile diameter. The area into which they were flying was dominated by a cluster of flat-topped obelisk peaks, each one varying in height, from a few hundred feet to a thousand feet to three thousand feet. In the gorges below, the Tsangpo River twined itself around the obelisks, a churning white ribbon enclosed by sheer cliffs.

  “Haven’t seen any kayakers,” Sam observed. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

  Karna looked up from the map he was studying and replied, “I would be surprised if you did,” Karna replied. “You’ve seen the terrain. Only the most determined—or insane—venture here.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s an insult or a compliment,” Remi whispered to Sam.

  “If we make it back victorious and alive, it’s a compliment.”

  Karna called to Ajay, “Ask Gupta if he can give us a better look at these peaks. If my numbers are correct, we’re right on top of the datum point.”

  Ajay relayed the request. Gupta slowed the Chetak to thirty knots and began orbiting each of the obelisks in turn, adjusting his altitude so his passengers could make a closer examination. At her window, Remi had her camera shutter on rapid-fire.

  “There!” Jack shouted, pointing.

  A hundred yards beyond the window lay one of the medium-sized obelisks, at approximately a thousand feet high and five hundred yards wide. The vertical granite slopes were heavily laced with vines, foliage, and great swaths of moss.

  “Do you see it?” Karna said, his index finger tracing along the glass. “The shape? Start at the bottom and go upward . . . Do you see where it begins to widen out and then, there, about a hundred feet below the plateau, it flares out suddenly? Tell me you see it!”

  It took Sam and Remi several seconds to piece together the image, but slowly smiles spread over their faces.

  “A giant mushroom,” Remi said.

  40

  TSANGPO RIVER GORGE, CHINA

  After making several aborted passes because of wind shear, Gupta managed to ease the Chetak sideways over the obelisk until Karna spotted a small clearing in the jungle near the edge of the plateau. Gupta slowed to a hover and then touched down. Once the rotors had stopped spinning, the group climbed out and grabbed their gear.

  “Does this remind you of anything?” Sam asked Remi.

  “Absolutely.”

  The plateau bore a striking resemblance to the paradise valleys they had spotted during their helicopter search of northern Nepal.

  Beneath their feet was a carpet of moss, ranging in color from dark green to chartreuse. Here and there, the landscape was dotted with granite boulders speckled with lichen. Directly across from them stood a wall of thick jungle, unbroken save a few tunnel-like paths that disappeared into the growth, rough ovals that stared back at Sam and Remi like unblinking black eyes. The air seemed to buzz with the chattering of insects, and, unseen in the foliage, birds squawked. In a nearby tree a monkey hung upside down and stared at them for a few seconds before skittering off.

  Jack and Ajay walked over to where Sam and Remi were standing. Karna said, “Thankfully, our search area is limited. If we split into two groups, we should be able to cover a lot of ground.”

  “Agreed,” Sam said.

  “One last thing,” Karna said. He knelt beside his pack and rummaged inside and came up with a pair of snub-nosed .38 revolvers. He handed one each to Sam and Remi. “I’ve got one, of course. And as for Ajay . . .”

  From a holster at the rear of his waistband Ajay pulled out a Beretta semiautomatic pistol, then quickly replaced it.

  “Are we expecting trouble?” Remi asked.

  “We’re in China, my dear. Anything can happen: bandits, crossborder terrorist groups, the PLA . . .”

  “If the Chinese Army shows up, these popguns are only going to make them mad.”

  “A bridge we’ll cross if need be. Besides, we’ll likely find what we’re looking for and be back across the border before nightfall.”

  Sam said, “Remi and I will head east; Jack, you and Ajay head west. We’ll meet back here in two hours. Any objections?”

  There were none.

  After checking their portable radios for reception, the group split up. Headlamps on and machetes in hand, Sam and Remi chose one of the paths and started in.

  Ten feet inside the jungle, the light dimmed to quarter strength. Sam slashed clear some of the vines growing across their path, then they paused to take a look around, panning their lights up, down, and to both sides.

  “The yearly rainfall here must be mind-boggling,” Sam said.

  “A hundred ten inches. About nine feet,” Remi replied, then smiled. “I know how you love trivia. I looked it up.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  A few feet over their heads, and on both sides, was a tangled mass of vines so thick they could see nothing of the forest itself.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” Remi said.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Sam jabbed the tip of his machete through the canopy. With a clang, his arm jolted to a stop. “That’s stone,” he murmured.

  Remi swung her machete to the left and also got a clang. The same to the right. “We’re in a man-made tunnel.”

  Sam unclipped the radio from his belt and pressed the Talk button. “Jack, are you there?”

  Static.

  “Jack, come in.”

  “I’m here, Sam. What is it?”

  “Are you on a trail?”

  “Just started.”

  “Swing your machete off the path.”

  “Okay . . .” Clang! Jack came back: “Stone walls. Fascinating development.”

  “Remember your hunch about Shangri-La bein
g a temple or monastery? Well, I think you’ve found it.”

  “I think you’re right. Amazing what a millennium of unchecked jungle can do, isn’t it? Well, I don’t think this changes our plan, do you? We search the complex, then regroup in two hours.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  Now aware they were inside a man-made structure, Sam and Remi began examining their surroundings for architectural telltales. Vines and roots had infiltrated every square foot of the complex. In the lead, Sam tried to swing his machete in short arcs but couldn’t avoid striking the stone walls occasionally.

  They reached an alcove and stopped.

  “Shut off your headlamp,” Sam said, dousing his.

  Remi did. When their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, they began to see slivers of dim sunlight through the foliage-covered walls and ceiling.

  “Windows and skylights,” Remi said. “This must have been an amazing sight in its day.”

  Sam and Remi started climbing a set of steps and soon reached a landing where the steps doubled back and rose to a second floor. Here, through an archway, they found a large open space. A patchwork of roots and vines arced above their heads to form a vaulted ceiling. Spanning the Great Room, as they dubbed it, were what looked like six half-rotted logs. Support beams, they decided, long ago decayed, the remnants held in place by a sheath of vines. Directly opposite the ramp/stairs they’d climbed was another set, leading upward into darkness.

  Headlamps panning, Sam and Remi spread out to explore the space. Along the far wall Sam found a row of stone benches jutting from the wall, and, in front of these, six rectangular slots in the stone floor.

  “Those are tubs,” Remi said.

  “They look like graves.”

  She knelt beside one and tapped the inside walls with her machete. She got back the familiar clang of steel on stone.